


Drawbacks

by Janissa11



Category: CSI: Las Vegas
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-22
Updated: 2009-11-22
Packaged: 2017-10-03 14:25:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janissa11/pseuds/Janissa11
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ah, the trials and tribulations of true love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drawbacks

By the time it happened, he'd convinced himself he wasn't cut out for domestic anything. Especially anything requiring an iota of commitment. He couldn't seem to do it. Had thought about it, sometimes a little obsessively, and had even considered it one or two times. But neither of those times had worked out, and the fault for that lay squarely in his own lap, which said something, didn't it? Some people just weren't meant to settle down with anyone.

Which was why it caught him utterly by surprise when he realized he'd been pretty much shacking up with Gil Grissom for a full three months, and no signs of the usual frantic hunt for a get-out-of-jail-free card yet. Longest he'd ever survived with anyone was eight weeks, and he'd spent the last two of those weeks sweating over the seemingly inevitable suffocation. This time? Breathing just fine, and only sweating at location-appropriate times. So far.

However, Nick thought while he climbed stiffly out of his truck, while his commitment skills seemed thus far to be coping magnificently with the stresses of having a long-term lover – or at least long-term for him – other parts of him weren't faring as well. Downright poorly at the moment. An unexpected glitch, and one that bade fair to causing him so much grief he didn't have to look for excuses this time. He might have to break up with Gil just to survive.

Catherine's look upon seeing him was disturbingly familiar. "Damn," she said bluntly. "You look like a hooker after Fat Tuesday."

"Shut up," Nick muttered, hobbling past her.

"Want some ice? I can –-"

"No, thanks."

Ice didn't do much good, anyway.

Much as it should have, it didn't help seeing Gil later on, either. Gil, who behind his glasses was so baggy-eyed it was almost a caricature, and who made funny little mixed snuffly-grunty sounds when he walked. Nick glowered at Gil, who glowered back, and refrained from comment.

But he felt a little better by the time his shift was over, and the spring was back in Gil's stride when he got to the house the next morning.

"You taste like bacon," Gil murmured, and sucked hard on Nick's lower lip.

"Gonna get cold," Nick said, thinking of the excellent breakfast he'd been cooking when Gil's arms went around his waist.

"Can't keep my hands off you."

And that, Nick thought blearily, was exactly half the problem. The other half being, of course, his own utter inability to resist when Gil started pawing at him. The guy had the libido of a nineteen-year-old, with stamina to match, and there you had it.

So when Gil pulled him in the direction of the bedroom, he gave only a brief sad look at the eggs going cold and rubbery in the pan, and then went willingly.

This time, though, his body had other ideas.

"Ow!" he said a few minutes later.

"What?" Gil gave him a distracted look.

"That hurts."

"What hurts?"

"That!" Nick snapped, and pushed him off.

"Oh. You mean you're sore."

"My ass is killing me, man," Nick whined.

"Turn over," Gil said coaxingly. "It'll feel better."

"I think I got BLISTERS!"

"You do not."

Nick reached back and touched himself gingerly, hissing. "Gil, man, I'm serious."

With a leer Gil said, "Roll over, let me see."

A lot more of the mood faded while he knelt with his butt in the air, giving Gil an eyeful of his crack. Normally that wouldn't have been such a bad position, but currently it hurt a little too much to be hot. WAY too much.

"Huh," Gil said, and touched something that made Nick utter a tight little scream of red-hot pain. "Sorry."

"It HURTS!" Nick wailed.

Gil didn't say anything, and when Nick craned to look at him, he saw Gil biting his lower lip, trying like hell not to laugh.

"WHAT?" Nick bellowed.

"I didn't, erm. Realize." Gil gave a tiny wheeze of badly camouflaged laughter. "That is."

"Gil, so help me GOD –-"

"It's just tender, honey," Gil said, and patted his thigh. "You're a little –- swollen."

"A LITTLE? It feels like I got NAPALM up there!"

Gil flopped on his back and howled with laughter.

A few minutes later, when Nick finally stopped yelling, he let Gil apply a cool wet cloth, and admitted – peevishly – that it felt better when he did that.

"I didn't realize," Gil said, sounding sheepish. "I thought you were exaggerating."

"I wasn't," Nick said.

"So I see. Aw, honey, your poor bottom."

"No thanks to YOU. You just better hope I don't have to go to the doctor."

Uneasily, Gil said, "Let's try some ice."

Ice helped, too. And some kind of gel that Gil dug out of his mysteriously well-equipped bathroom cabinet, smelling like peppermint, that helped as well. And later that morning, Nick almost felt disappointed when Gil informed him that sex –- at least this particular form of it -– was sidelined for the moment.

"You're young, you'll heal fast." Gil kissed him firmly.

"Maybe I'm healed now," Nick said hopefully, and slid his hand between Gil's thighs.

"See, this is how you ended up like this in the first place," Gil said.

"Shut up and blow me."

"Eloquent."

* * *

Five days later, Nick's little problem was almost entirely gone, Catherine stopped making smirking little suggestions, and Gil was tired of blow jobs. So when he pushed Nick down on the bed that morning, Nick greeted the overture with great enthusiasm.

And it WAS great and all that, whew, yeah, except afterward he looked between Gil's legs and said, "That can't be good."

"It'll go away."

"Man, you're like, swelling up there."

Gil grimaced. "Overexertion."

Nick raised his eyebrows. "Isn't that torsion or something? That's no joke, Gil, that'll kill your nuts."

A flicker of alarm crossed Gil's sweaty features. "It is... uncomfortable," he said after a moment.

Nick touched Gil's swollen balls, and Gil screamed.

"Yeah," Nick said dryly. "Pretty uncomfortable."

A week later, when he took Gil home from the hospital, Nick sighed and looked at him. "We gotta cut down, man."

Busy nuzzling Nick's ear, Gil mumbled, "I'm fine."

"For the moment."

"It won't happen again."

"Maybe not today."

"Would you please stop talking?"

"You sure you're up to this? You just got out of the hospmmmmph."

* * *

They sat silently on the bed. Or rather, reclined at various angles. Finally Gil said, "I foresee a problem."

"You think?"

"Huh."

"You know, they never talk about this in porn. These people can fuck fifty times a day and it's like, whoopee, more!"

"Fifty?"

"You know what I mean."

Gil sighed. "How do you feel now?"

"My ass hurts. And I'm horny."

"Your ass looks like ground meat."

"Not that bad. How's your, you know?"

"Not that bad."

"Lemme see you try to walk."

"You first."

Nick rolled over on his back and sighed. "This isn't real romantic, Gil. I just thought I'd let you know."

"So noted." Gil lay down next to him, sliding his hand over Nick's belly. "There are other things we can do besides have sex, you know."

"Yeah. Sleep."

"Well, I mean, we HAVE been very -- Well."

"Fucking like bunnies every chance we get?"

"One way of putting it."

"Maybe this is God's way of telling us to slow the hell down."

"Could be."

"Thought you were agnostic."

"That's right, I am."

Nick turned his head on the pillow and grinned. "Well," he remarked, "it's better than the alternative."

Gil cocked an eyebrow. "Oh? How so?"

"We could be walking just fine."

"Oh. OH."

"Exactly." He craned forward and kissed Gil's mouth. "I guess I prefer this."

"Masochistic? I never thought you were the type, Nicky."

"Ha ha. You know what I mean."

Gil's hand slid down over Nick's hip, fingers squeezing familiarly. "Yes," he murmured. "I do."

Sighing, Nick said, "It won't last forever. Mine or yours."

"No. We'll be fine."

"And it's okay? If we don't, you know?"

Gil smiled slowly. "Have sex?"

"That way?"

"You can say it, Nick, I won't blush."

"No," Nick mumbled, "but I will."

"It's okay. Of course it's okay. If it weren't, I think I'd end up back in the hospital."

"Maybe we could get a double."

Gil snorted. "Maybe it would be better for our recoveries if we didn't."

With a smirk, Nick replied, "It's you who can't keep your hands off, you know."

"And there are several four-letter words that accurately describe your response to –-"

"Yeah, yeah."

Sleepily, Gil said, "There's time, Nicky. Tomorrow. Or the next day. I'm not going anywhere. Are you?"

Nick smiled and slid his leg over Gil's hips, ignoring the twinge in his ass. "Nope. Got no plans at all."

"That's good."

"Yeah. Gil?"

"Hmm?"

"I kinda love you, you know that?"

Without opening his eyes, Gil smiled, pulling Nick closer. "I kinda hoped you did."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Nick sighed. "Okay, then."

"Nicky?"

"Mmh?"

"Get your hand off my ass."

"But –-"

"Nick."

"Aw, all right." Nick sighed.

"Night, sweetheart."

"Not even –-"

"Say good night, Nicky."

"Good night, Nicky."

END


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